


Clipped

by CaptainRivaini



Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Supergiant Secret Santa, jodariel is stubborn and afraid, pamitha is elusive and gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 00:29:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13155306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainRivaini/pseuds/CaptainRivaini
Summary: What was the worst that could happen?The door opening to reveal none other than Pamitha answered her question immediately.Pamitha looked at her.She looked at Pamitha.She would kill Oralech for this.[Pamitha and Jodariel are injured, but perhaps together they'll find a way to heal.]





	Clipped

 

**J** odariel readjusted her brace, sullenly looking up and down at the white walls of Oralech’s office, taking in the bare walls, the smell of medicinal cream and the gut-gnawing feeling that she would not enjoy this appointment at all.

It had been little over three months since her return and the collapse of the Commonwealth, three months of destroying and rebuilding, and destroying some more. From the ashes of the Commonwealth arose the Sahrian Union, a change that had been necessary for years.

Her body was no exception to such change. She had tried to hide but her friends – mostly Hedwyn – had figured there was a problem in her attempt to remain solitary. Try as she might, she could not get Hedwyn’s look of utter shock at seeing her resting her sore, stumped hooves in the strongest healing waters out of her mind.

He had seen the worst of her many times before, yes, but living in the Sahrian Union after the Downside was more than enough to change one’s expectations.

Oralech had scolded her for hiding it in the first place from everyone. Jodariel had continued to do so regardless, he was her doctor, not her friend. What was the worst that could happen?

The door opening to reveal none other than Pamitha answered her question immediately.

Pamitha looked at her.

She looked at Pamitha.

And shook her head, ignoring the way her horns protested at the abrupt movement by sinking harder into her skull. 

Pamitha smiled, as Jodariel knew she would before she even glanced up, with that lascivious look of hers Jodariel had become accustomed to during their time together in the Downside.

“Jodi, darling. What a surprise to see you here!”

She would kill Oralech for this.

“And still as quiet as ever!” Pamitha continued with a laugh, making her way over to where Jodariel sat with the same confident gait as ever. “It would make a more naïve harp question whether you liked them or not!”

Jodariel scowled.

 

* * *

 

 

**O** ralech looked at the two of them, brow raised. “You both, no doubt, have questions.”

“None whatsoever, darling,” Pamitha replied with a chuckle. It had taken the harp sitting next to her to notice, but Jodariel couldn’t help but stare at the tucked in wing at Pamitha’s left side. It looked bruised, the red plumes of her feathers plucked and scarred as if attacked…By talons, of all things. “It is clear to me why you’ve brought us both here.”

Now _that_ caught her attention. While she had a suspicious feeling why Oralech had brought them together, Jodariel dared not venture her idea aloud with Pamitha sitting next to her. While they had talked briefly since the beginnings of Sahrian Union, it had only been that – briefly. She still wasn’t sure how to even wade her way through a dreaded conversation with most people, never mind the harp who had spent most of their time together in the Downside leaving Jodariel more confused than ever before.

She would not even attempt to do so now.

“Would you like me to venture a guess at what I think—”

“No.” Oralech cut over the harp with a shrug of his shoulders, the disinterest of listening to Pamitha ramble smugly about her theories obvious in the sharp lines of his face.

Jodariel hid a smile behind her clawed hands. At least now she and Oralech shared something in common that wasn’t just their horned visage.

“Since your encounter with your sister, Tamitha,” Oralech said, moving away from them both to gather equipment from a cupboard drawer, his back turned. “Your wing hasn’t been recovering at the rate it should be, which means either one of two things.” He turned to face them, his face grave. “You’ve been ignoring my advice and have tried to take flight instead of resting or your wing is beyond repair and you’ll never fly again.”

The silence that followed was as sharp and embarrassing as a jab to the gut. It didn’t lessen any more at Pamitha’s shrug of indifference, her eyes refusing to linger on Oralech’s.

Jodariel couldn’t blame her – she hadn’t been the best of patients either and Oralech was always keen to remind her of it.

“As for you, Jodariel,” yes, there was that grim scowl that he liked to wear when addressing her and her condition. “How many times must I tell you that you’re to bathe your horns in the water I give you and to use a cane? The condition of your hooves—”

“Won’t improve if I do not.” She finished, her head cocked to the side. “I have told you before about my condition and I do not wish to speak of it anymore.”

“And why is that?”

“Patient-doctor confidentiality died with the Commonwealth, did it?” She challenged, her voice laced with frustration.

Pamitha, realizing she was being indicated at, waved a talon in the air as though she had heard it all before. “It’s a bit late for that, Jodi.”

“Be quiet, little bird.” She snapped, her patience for this whole parade wearing thinner and thinner as time passed.

Pamitha rolled her eyes but thankfully remained silent.

Oralech looked at her as though he too was losing his nerve in this battle of wills, but with a grunt and a shake of his head he suddenly moved closer, standing high above them both. “Regardless of what you may think of this and of me, I’ve been speaking with someone who claims to know both of you quite well: The Reader.”

Jodariel felt as though someone had pressed a cattle-prod under her ribs, shocking her into life to see colour and consciousness for the very first time since she had stepped foot into this new, unfamiliar world.

She didn’t need to look at Pamitha to know the harp wore the same expression, but it was nice to see it nevertheless.

For the first time today Jodariel was certain she saw the corners of Oralech’s lips quirk into a satisfied smile, if only for a moment. “They wish you well, both of you. And tell me that, despite appearances, you two can work well together.” At their protests he held up a single finger, silencing them. “Which is why I’ve called you here: where acts of preservation between two friends goes a long way to recovery.”

“I think friendship is putting it a bit…” Pamitha started to say.

“It is wrong.” Jodariel finished. “Completely.”

“The Reader spoke differently.” Oralech continued, bringing his own cane from his side to walk towards his desk. “It’s why I’ve assigned you both together for your physical therapy. And as for your more…mental facilities.” Jodariel noted the pause and from the look of frustration on Pamitha’s face, she had too. “I believe you’ll be good for one another for this assignment. You’ll be staying together for at least a couple of weeks and…”

 

* * *

 

**T** hat was how Jodariel found Pamitha Theyn crossing over her threshold, her damaged wing in a sling and her beady, brown eyes ransacking their way over every nook and cranny of her cramped bungalow.

Originally, she had asked for a multi-storied house. However, that soon changed the moment her hooves had started to change: stairs were a hassle, lifting heavy objects drained her thoroughly and even the lightest exertions left her breathless.

So, a bungalow it was.

Her horns brushed the top of the ceiling as she fully straightened, watching the back of Pamitha’s head and taking in the soft, now curly, green locks. The urge to touch them caught her by surprise and she growled, stomping past the harp to make her way into the kitchen.

These same urges had been a problem in the Downside. At least there she could run away from her problems, but here, in the same space as Pamitha with nowhere else to go but to rest in her home? There was no running anymore.

She huffed loudly.

“Jodi darling, there’s no need to be so upset.” And just like clockwork, Pamitha is right behind her with that smug aura about her.

“I’m not upset,” Jodariel replied, reaching out to steady herself on the counter. “I am annoyed. At the Reader—”

“Well, all that time with the wraith may have left her head quite loopy.” Pamitha jested and then, to Jodariel’s complete disbelief, hoisted herself up on the counter next to her. “What do you call it? Lovesick? Whipped? I forget—”

“Oralech needn’t have listened to her,” Jodariel interrupted, eyeing Pamitha sitting on the counter as pointedly as she could muster. “He's supposed to be professional.”

Pamitha didn’t answer her but she could see the working of the harp’s brain slowly tick away, bit by bit. She had already pulled her injured wing further into her, looking more broken than ever despite the smirk on her face and the pleasant twinkle in her eye. Jodariel didn’t know where to look when it came to her, and the coldness inside that she felt whenever their eyes met was harsh and ugly to comprehend. The only choice was to simply ignore it.

She reached up to her cupboards and gingerly felt around for glasses. If Pamitha was going to be staying here (despite her argument stating otherwise) then she would at least not allow the harp to call her a poor host…

Her hand slipped off the counter and—

Pamitha flung her wing outwards to catch her weight, the red feathers primed and pressed to their full height now that they were wrapped around her. To her surprise they were as strong as a brick, yet as downy as fur from the most eloquent creatures of the Sahrian Union, but…

Jodariel wrenched herself free from their grip the moment a loud, pained hiss escaped past Pamitha’s lips.

Her wing! She had caught her with her injured—

Pamitha flapped it half-heartedly before she laughed at Jodariel’s expression. “You must be more careful! While it is not the first time a woman has fallen in my arms…”

Jodariel scoffed.

“—it most certainly is the first time a woman has nearly torn my wing in the process.”

* * *

 

**T** heir sleeping arrangements were one of the things that Jodariel had dreaded the most the moment she and Pamitha had left the office.

There was only one bed and while it was big enough, more than big enough actually, for the both of them… The thought of sleeping so close to Pamitha left her feeling as though she was back on the Sea of Solis once again, her stomach tossing and turning in on itself in a fit of rage.

Pamitha, of course, didn’t seem to mind. If anything from the look on her face she finds the thought of them together rather enjoyable.

Jodariel rolled her eyes at the thought. Typical of her.

She hobbled towards the door to their now shared bedroom and leaned against the door. She had thought she was quiet enough not to be noticed but the harp turned away from getting dressed to stare up at her, eyes narrowed and scanning over her as though she was a map. “Why, Jodariel! I didn’t think you were one to stare.”

Jodariel turned her face away, her cheeks feeling warmer than they had in a long time. “Hmph. I do not stare.”

The harp replied by simply flapping her wings once, twice and then falling as dramatically as possible onto the bed.

She stayed there for only a moment before she sat up, perching her chin on the palm of her hand in thought that Jodariel couldn’t tell was mocking or not.

“Ah, you’re right.” Pamitha purred, moving to scratch at her shoulder with her talons. “I believe you were admiring, darling.”

Jodariel whipped her head around so fast to glare at the harp she was certain she heard it crack. “Now _you_ are being as delusional as the Reader.”

Pamitha shrugged. “Perhaps! Now, where is your cane? I believe the good doctor told you that you should be using it.”

“The bed is a few steps away, harp,” Jodariel argued, a sliver of amusement unable to hide in her voice.

“Either way…”

Ignoring the harp’s further protests, Jodariel limped over towards the bed and sat down, careful not to touch Pamitha in any way possible. It mostly meant that there was more than a chance she would fall out of the bed, yet considering who now shared her bed…It was not too much of a bad idea.

Or so she thought until the harp sighed, and the bed suddenly felt lighter.

Jodariel peered over her shoulder. “Where are you going?”

“To sleep somewhere else, darling.”

“And why is that?”

Pamitha paused, her lips pursed. “I make you uncomfortable, which, considering your condition, is not…advisable.” For a flicker of a second she looked like a hatchling, lost with nowhere to go, and in that second Jodariel felt as though something had been quelled inside of her. Something she couldn’t rightly explain even when Pamitha threw her a wink. “Besides, I have a couch with my name on it.”

The demon cupped her head and groaned. She was not entirely naïve, she knew that somewhere, deep inside her bones, the truth of her discomfort was gnawing away inside of her to come out.

She held out her aching legs, stopping the harp from moving any further.

“Sit.” Then when she realized that her attitude would be getting her nowhere, she added, “please.”

The bed dipped beside her but it was the long, slim leg pressed up against her that made Jodariel flush. It was ridiculous really, the way she was feeling. She had fought for so many years, since she was just a small girl as a matter of fact, and to feel this way – about a harp?! The Scribes, if they were still there, was surely laughing at her.

Worst still, Pamitha was as quiet as a dormouse.

“It’s…” She strained to get out, craning her head to the side to look at the harp. “Not you. It’s not even that you’re a harp.” This honesty…It felt so heavy. Embarrassing. She closed her eyes and sucked it back down. “I…I don’t want to let anyone see me like this.”

“Ah. You are embarrassed.” Pamitha said, spreading her injured wing out to press at Jodariel’s shoulder. “Don’t fret, darling. I still find you quite fetching, stump and all!”

Jodariel ground her teeth and once more shook her head. She had had a feeling this would be the reception she would receive from Pamitha, a jokey, somewhat ridiculous response that would do nothing but make her feel worse.

“If you can do nothing but joke then—”

The harp touched her knee and she felt certain her tongue had dried up and then shrunk on the spot. Her touch was light, yet persistent as it slowly moved down her leg until it touched the sore, morphed skin of her currently stumped leg. It wouldn’t always be like that, Oralech had informed her of that, eventually they would form back into her human feet. But it would take a very long time. Longer than she had the patience for.

When Pamitha’s talons scraped gently over the tender flesh she hissed, though remained rooted to the spot. She would not flinch in front of her, she would refuse to look even more like a fool.

As if reading her thoughts, Pamitha sighed and finally allowed her talon to rest on her knee. “I miss it, sometimes.” She paused and then, “the Downside. Oh, not the food, and the Scribe-awful crags and ugh, the Black Basin but...”

“You don’t have to explain.” Jodariel cut across, looking straight ahead at the open door of her bedroom where the fire in her living room was just dying out. “I miss it too.”

Pamitha made a choked noise in her throat. “Truly, darling? Why, I thought you would have been eager to get back—”

“Things were simpler.” She grunted, crossing her arms over her chest. “The Reader and Hedwyn both, they kept our spirits up.”

Pamitha gave her a wry smile. “And I kept you motivated!”

Jodariel snorted but she too couldn’t help the way her face gave way into a smile. “You speak too much, little bird.”

“Tamitha dearest said the same thing, you know!”

She paused in hauling herself fully onto her bed, curiosity piqued and drawn to the torn wing that Pamitha hugged to her like a new-born.

In her own despair and discomfort about herself and whatever her connection was with Pamitha, Jodariel had completely disregarded Pamitha’s injury and how it came to be. Once upon a time that wouldn’t have bothered her, Pamitha and everyone like her had been her truest enemy, but now it made her hang her head, ashamed.

“She attacked you?”

The harp’s response was to giggle dryly, cradling her wing as she slowly turned to drag herself up to the other side of the bed.

At least she no longer wanted to leave, Jodariel noted, at least she had done something right tonight.

When Pamitha had finally managed to lie down (ceremoniously tucking her wings behind her), she turned on her side, eyes glued to Jodariel’s.

“Everyone has tussles with their siblings when you’re a harp.”

Jodariel answered by finally throwing herself down on her side of the bed, sending the other woman flying for half a moment before she grabbed onto the sheets, steadying herself and cursing under her breath.

The demon smirked yet let it die instantly. “Harps or no harp, there was no need to tear your wing.”

“Someone would accuse you of caring about little, old me, Jodariel.”

Jodariel snorted, fluffing her pillow from behind her head and then, thinking better of it, whipping it out to smack at the harp’s face.

Pamitha immediately burst into laughter, tearing the pillow away from her face and slamming it against her side. Mock rage filled her face when the demon made no sign that she had even felt the touch and she moved forward, pressing over Jodariel until the other woman could look in no other direction.

It was too close and yet not close enough.

“When will you stop running from me, Jodi darling?”

She became as still as wood, stiff and unmoving and that feeling that crept right up her must be fear. It must be. For she had no answer for the harp, nothing that was even close to the truth sprung to her lips, instead remaining tucked away in the darkest depths of her heart.

Pamitha’s talons caressed her chest – warm, compliant and giving. It made her want to give in in more ways than one.

She took the harp’s hand in her own, so small and dainty in comparison.

“I can’t run.” She replied, laughing quietly as if she was whispering. “My legs are too sore for that now, little bird.”

Pamitha curled herself around her, overbearingly close and distracting. “Thank the Scribes for that!” She pressed her nose, that sharp and slanted nose, into the crook of the demon’s neck, sighing contently. “Maybe tomorrow you’ll start using your cane like the doctor ordered.”

“Perhaps.” She replied, already knowing that tomorrow she would actually have to confess she used her cane for firewood weeks ago. “Maybe you’ll tell me more what happened to your sister tomorrow, too.”

“Ah, you do play dirty sometimes,” Pamitha whispered into the skin just below her ear.

The whole thing, them lying together, made her feel as though she was trapped. But she knew it was her own insecurities that lied to her right at this moment, it was nothing to do with the harp or the traitorous emotions she felt around her.

So, she remained as still as possible, her hands forced to lie pliantly at her side and on the harp’s hip.

They laid together in silence for the rest of the night.

Sore, tired but with hope threatening to burst through their chests.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

 

 

 

 


End file.
